Clara
by JMK758
Summary: Rev. Patricia McCabe tries to resolve her ongoing problems with Lt. Malcolm Reed. What do you do when you finally find the love of your life again, and he wants nothing to do with you?
1. Captain's Mess

Disclaimer: Paramount, as everyone knows, owns Star Trek Enterprise and everything in it. Original characters are my own. Reverend Mother Patricia McCabe, Enterprise's UESPA-imposed Chaplain, was introduced in 'Cross and Crown', and her alter-ego appeared in 'Pulsar'. She has been aboard for 16 days.

This is the 21st story in this series (counting the AU episode 'Face in the Dark Mirror). Though this story is published after 'Humiliatum', it actually takes place more than a week before it, and two days before 'TreatyViolation'. Thus, it is a prequel to that story.

Later works will include 'Life Goes On', 'Sufferance', 'The Court Martial of Hoshi Sato', 'Extreme Prejudice' and 'Fractured'.

Rated 'T'. Mature themes.

"When you are unexpectedly reunited with your one true love, and he does his best to avoid you, what will you do?"

Clara

By JMK758

Prologue

Reverend Mother Patricia McCabe OSJ, the new Chaplain of the Starship Enterprise, stepped into her quarters, waiting until the door closed behind her. She took a deep breath, to try to calm herself and get her anger under control. She stepped to her desk, moving very carefully, as if were she to surrender control for even an instant, she would be unable to regain it.

Reaching behind her neck, under her long chestnut hair, she undid the tiny clasp holding the royal blue cloth collar, removing the cross she wore suspended before her breasts. She turned the jewel around, looking at the red, white and gold emblem, trying to draw strength and succor from it. She brought it to her lips, kissing it before setting it down on the desk, adjusting the blue bands so they lay flat, upward from the cross in a large V.

She did not think of it, ever, as removing a burden; but for the first time in her Liturgical life she was finding it, and other things, more of a symbolic cross to bear than a literal one.

Undoing the top button on the back of her blue shirt, the one that held the high stiff white collar of her shirt, the color of which indicated her Calling, fastened about her neck, she then undid the buttons on the cuffs of her sleeves. "Computer." She called, gratified to hear the answering 'chirrup' from the machine. At least _something_ worked here without giving her an argument. "Activate Interactive Program 'Clara'. Privacy mode: Double encryption."

A moment later a woman's simulated face appeared on her desk monitor. This was not a real person, but a representative image of the program, designed so that the members of her Order could have someone to look at, a pair of eyes to respond to.

'Clara' was a sophisticated interactive program commissioned by her Order for use by its members on deep space missions, in situations where there was no one to consult with. For those whose duties involve being 'Counselor' to their 'flock', it was often found that they themselves had no one to turn to on delicate, confidential matters. For that purpose was 'Clara' (short of clarity or clarification) created, to act as a 'sounding board' where no other existed.

It was equal parts analyst; both of herself and others; private repository of her thoughts, which could in turn help in organizing those thoughts; and sister confessor.

"Well, Patricia," the blonde woman's face changed in a manner with her synthesized voice, both as natural as could be fashioned by the best programmers of the Order, "double encryption. You haven't used that since you got into that fight with Archdeacon -."

"Shut up!"

She turned away, reaching again under her hair to continuing to unbutton her shirt, then reaching up behind her back when she had gone as far down as she could, to undo the last of the buttons. More than once, she envied her male colleagues, who had buttons down the front. She had appealed through the 'proper channels' more than once for a change; only to be frequently told that it 'ruined the lines'.

She privately suspected some staid arch-bureaucrat somewhere lived in constant fear that someone just might get a sideways peek through a gap in the buttons of a female Priest's shirt, and the heavens would fall from the sky.

x

She forcibly curtailed these thoughts. She had enough to be angry about without dredging up old irritations.

She pulled off the shirt and hung it up in her closet alongside the other uniforms she wore. She reasoned that since she had been wearing it for little more than an hour, it had plenty of life in it. Sitting down at her desk, she started undoing the fastenings of her shoes, but a blinking message on her monitor caught her eyes.

Superimposed over the face of the woman were the words 'Do you wish to terminate interactive vocal?' Beyond the blinking words, 'Clara' occasionally moved eyes and facial expressions in a way much like a human would as 'she' waited.

"No. Just be quiet for a minute." The blinking letters disappeared, and 'Clara' waited.

Patricia finished removing her shoes, stood up and pulled off her black pants, replacing them on the same hanger under the royal blue shirt. Clad now in bra and panties, she closed the closet door and opened a drawer beside it, removing a white robe, which she pulled on and cinched. Then she sat down at the desk. "Resume Interactive Vocal." She fought down the automatic urge to apologize.

"Well, you're in a mood." 'Clara' observed. "I detect heightened blood pressure, increased respiration, unusually high muscular tension, and though your face is 18 percent redder than usual I doubt it is because anyone has made a pass."

"Funny." More than once she had questioned the sense of humor of this program's designer. She had to admit, however, that it was an excellent counselor. Having the ability to tap into all sorts of ship's systems from medical to personnel, it could mimic a remarkable degree of 'insight'; especially as it got more and more use, and could develop a large database of its 'host' subject; Patricia herself. "As if anyone would."

"Don't discount it. You're a very attractive woman." Patricia was, in fact, a young forty, and it would be many years before the first strands of grey or the first lines started to hint her age. "How are you getting settled in?"

"All right. Settling into my new ship, meeting my new flock these past two weeks, just spending the time getting acquainted; not throwing my position at anyone; just … settling in."

"How is Malcolm Reed?" 'Clara' could not forget that 'they' had discussed him numerous times. Patricia leaned back until her shoulders rested against the back of the chair, sighed and said feelingly;

"Malcolm Reed is a damned _Bastard_."

x

For a long moment there was no reply. Patricia figured this was built into the program, a way to either give her a moment to organize her thoughts or to mimic a human's reaction, which would be to take a moment to think of what to say in the face of her impassioned declaration.

"Would you like to talk about why 'Malki' Reed, the man you were set to marry, the love of your life lost for so many years and now found aboard this ship, seemingly the source of all your joy and hope aboard Enterprise, is now a 'damned bastard'?"

Patricia took a deep breath and held it until her lungs started to hurt; then released it all at once, sagging into the chair. It didn't help her temper. "It started this morning …"

Chapter One

Captain's Mess

When Patricia accepted the Captain's invitation to breakfast in his 'Mess' off the main Hall, she was very uncomfortable. It was sixteen days since she had come aboard, and though this was her second breakfast with the ship's commander, she was nowhere near as at ease as she had been the first time. She had prepared herself as well as she could, and when the time came she found she was not prepared at all.

"That was a nice Service yesterday." Archer said; referring to the previous morning's mass for the third Sunday of Lent.

"Thank you. How goes it with my ship?" She asked with a grin.

"Quite well." He 'reported'. "We're two days out from a recently mapped star system known as 'Capella'. Command tells us that the survey ship 'Bergman' has made First Contact and discovered a tremendous supply of a mineral called 'topaline', which is very useful to ships and starbases. We've been ordered to negotiate for a couple million tons of it."

"Sounds interesting."

"It could be, though after the past several weeks I'll settle for a little boredom once in a while. Still, it's always good to meet new races. Maybe this time we can actually start off as friends." It would be very nice to have a First Contact without complications. "How are you getting on?"

"It's … interesting." She granted. "It's always a challenge integrating into a new posting. Actually," she glanced around and favored him with a small smile, "it's taking me a bit of getting used to having a meal in what I've come to think of as my Sacristy." She had been using the small room off the Mess Hall to prepare for her three Services thus far, before offering mass at 0930 in the larger room.

"You'll get used to the economy of space. Actually, I have to get used to it from the other way around." They exchanged quick grins.

"Economy of space is not a problem." She assured him. "Try being posted as the only woman aboard a warp 1.5 freighter for seven months."

"Ouch. At least we can do better than that."

"This is the first time I've actually had quarters _and_ an office. Usually I make do with both in one, which really fouls up sleep." As if to accentuate the point, she fought down a yawn.

"Honestly, it's a slow process. It's never easy adjusting to a new posting, at least not for me. It takes time to get to know everyone properly, and for them to get to know, and be comfortable with, me. Sometimes it's like an arranged marriage."

"I understand. Even though I had my pick of crew, with the exception of those closest to me I chose mostly by reputation and recommendation. That's why I have these morning breakfasts. It gives me a chance to socialize and get to know people in a more relaxed atmosphere. You should try it."

"I actually do. Though I don't have an actual 'shift' like everybody else, I usually do try to maintain an Alpha/Beta schedule and sleep during Gamma. But for the first month here I'm rotating that schedule an hour forward every few days, so I can get acquainted with Gamma crew. I've been planning - ." She was interrupted by a massive and embarrassing yawn. "I'm sorry, Captain."

"Not quite adjusted?"

"Not exactly. Actually, I haven't slept a wink in two days."

"Oh?" He asked, mildly concerned. He could not have missed the fact that she was tired, but had not realized the extent of her depravation.

"Not because of that. I've had … something on my mind."

"Something … or someone?"

She smiled wryly. "Someone." She admitted, picking up a glass. "Of all the bars and all the gin joints in Casablanca…" Her atrocious imitation of Humphrey Bogart gave voice to her feelings more than the mere words did.

As if to prove that the God she served so faithfully had a sense of humor, the door behind her slid open and she heard a familiar voice, with a British accent no different from her own, and therefore not heard at all. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to intrude."

"Not at all, Malcolm. Come on in."

The door slid closed and then he was standing beside them, a padd in his hand. She looked up to him. "Good morning, Malcolm." She noticed his eyes flicker for the briefest of moments to Archer, seated at the head of the table, then back to her.

"Good morning, Reverend. Did you sleep well?"

Archer did not miss the momentary annoyance that flashed through her eyes, though she hid it from her expression and tone well enough. "Of course, Lieutenant. As well as you, I dare say."

Neither of them had missed the redness in the man's eyes.

In that moment, the ship's Steward entered from the side corridor, bearing two plates which he set down before the Captain and the Priest. "You wanted to see me, sir?" The Armory Officer asked diffidently as they were being served.

"Yes. I wanted to -." Whatever he wanted was interrupted by the intercom.

"Bridge to Captain Archer." He reached over and touched the control on the wall behind him.

"Yes?"

"You have a call from Admiral Black."

Archer scowled. "My least favorite fearless leader." He whispered below the level of the intercom's reception. "Thank you, Hoshi. I'll take it in my Ready Room." He glanced longingly at his breakfast; then stood up. "I'm sorry, Reverend. This will probably take an hour, knowing the Admiral."

"I understand."

"Sir, perhaps I should get back to the bridge as well." Malcolm offered. Archer looked at the two plates and the woman who would be left alone.

"No, that's not necessary. Please. Stay. Don't let this go to waste. I'll see you later." So saying, he exited, but not by the door to the Mess Hall. He left through the Steward's passage to the Mess Hall.

Neither guest left behind ever saw the smile on his face, nor would they ever know how carefully this had been orchestrated. He had eaten over an hour before; Malcolm Reed was as precisely punctual as ever, as had been the Steward; those in the Mess Hall had seen the three enter, and no one leave; and Hoshi had been right on time with the fictitious call from Admiral Black. Now the pair would be left in privacy to hopefully resolve the tensions that had been so clearly building in both of them for the past fortnight.

x

"Won't you sit down?" Patricia invited. "It does look delicious."

He looked at her, and the plate before him, and was clearly torn. "I _should_ go back to the bridge, Reverend."

"Please, Malki. This is the first real moment we've had together in days. Don't go away; I want to talk to you." She had not missed his aborted wince at her use of her pet name for him, though he did come around to take the Captain's chair.

"It does look good." He allowed, picking up a fork. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Frankly, us." He put the fork back down.

"I'm not sure just how much of an 'us' there is." He admitted.

"I'm not going anywhere." She reminded him. "Your own vote two weeks ago settled that. I'm here to stay. There was an 'us' at one time, a very strong, powerful 'us'. I just want to know how much of an 'us' there's going to be."

"I honestly don't know."

"Well, let's see; shall we?" She asked, ticking them off on her fingers. "There's the 'us' that you want in public, where you call me 'Reverend' and I call you 'Lieutenant' and we stand a meter apart and we're not fooling anyone except some junior crewman in hydroponics. Then there's the 'us' in front of your friends, who know we were dating for twenty years and were engaged to be married, then spent years apart and now we're back together on the same ship. There's that 'us'.

"And then there's the 'us' for behind closed doors, when it is just the two of us. In fact, even if someone _cared_ right now, which they don't, they would think we're in here with the Captain, or didn't you notice that little slight-of-hand exit. He's probably even told the Steward to leave us be until we get things out in the open and resolved between us."

"You're right." He admitted so readily he surprised her. "I'm not sure where this tightrope came from, but I'm getting pretty tired of walking it."

"So am I. So what do we do?"

"Well, right now there is no 'us' for behind closed doors. I think we should –."

"Not on your life, Malcolm Reed!" She declared. "Maybe we can't go all the way back to where we once were, but don't you think about it? I do. I haven't _slept_ in two days because I'm thinking about it again. Ever since we've been back together, I haven't been able to _stop_ thinking about it."

Malcolm stared at her, trying to hide his distress. He could not take his eyes off the stiff white band circling her throat. "Rev –."

"If you call me 'Reverend' one more time when we're alone together I promise you; you will be sorry." She forcibly shut herself up, trying to bury that flash of anger. "You're living a lie, and I won't live it with you."

"And what lie is that?"

"That we are nothing but shipmates, two colleagues that pass in the corridor. We're more than that. Much more."

"You're looking for a sexual relationship?"

"I'm _looking_ for a relationship like two people who love each other and were going to be married – and still _could_ be some day – should have. And yes, if that involves sex, I've already told you I'm not celibate in this Order, even though it's been over three years since I've put that to the test."

"Then what are you losing sleep over?" He asked in a burning tone.

She gasped, outraged, and clutched the cross before her breasts tightly in her hand, imploring patience with this stubborn man. Before she could receive it in any measure, however, he stood up and stalked out the door, letting it close between them. She opened her hand, finding the imprint of the metal pressed into her palm.

"Oh, no, Malki Reed," she whispered, "you don't walk out on me!"

Standing and turning, she pushed the door button even while adopting a placid mask and serene manner as she passed through the rear of the Mess Hall and out into the corridor.

A few minutes later the Steward entered the room, regarding the two untouched plates with considerable annoyance.

x

She saw him up ahead, still stalking away, and adopted a pace that was not hurried, but which allowed her to be walking beside him in a very short time.

"You've always been a determined woman." He said so quietly no one nearby would hear. "I could even say willful and stubborn."

"We were a perfect pair." She agreed as quietly. To anyone nearby they appeared just two crewmates strolling down the corridor, the heat in their voices never reaching their faces.

"I once really liked that about you."

"And now?" She asked.

"Now, I'm … I'm not sure. The years change people."

"You especially."

He glared at her, but quickly wiped the expression from his face. "I haven't changed. I'm still the same Malcolm I always was."

"You can lie to your friends." She said in a tone far cheerier than she felt. "You can't lie to me. I know the real Malki Reed."

"'Malki' Reed is dead."

"Then I'm walking next to a corpse, because Malki was who you were. The real you. The you that you never even let your own family see. The you that loved life, that loved spontaneity; that loved me."

He stopped short, forcing her to turn, and on his face was a look of such pain her heart almost broke. "I never stopped loving you!" He declared in strangled tones. "Maybe I'm not the spontaneous boy you remember, but I never stopped loving you."

"Then let go with that love." She tried to keep her pleading whisper from reaching her face as a crewwoman passed near.

"Have you any idea how long it's been since I've 'let go' with anything? I've probably forgotten how."

"I could help you remember. I want to."

He closed his eyes, partly to hide the pain, mostly so he could not see her collar, her cross, her uniform.

He started walking even before he'd opened his eyes again. "I can't."

She kept up beside him, but it was harder to maintain the serene mask she'd adopted. "I'll help you."

He shook his head. "It's too late for me."

"You won't even try?"

"No." Suddenly she realized they'd walked all the way back to her quarters, and she stopped, forcing him to.

"I remember the spontaneous young man Malki Reed was." She said tightly; barely able to contain her frustration; her desperation. She had come so close. "I remember a day in your home when we were seventeen, when your parents and sister were away for the weekend. I remember your picking me up in a fireman's carry and throwing me on your parent's bed. I remember you tore all the buttons off my best blouse and split the zipper on my skirt. You were on fire that day."

"I remember some fire from you as well. You dug your nails into my back and tore my shirt in half."

"You took my virginity that afternoon. Actually, I _gave_ it to you. And I never regretted an inch of it, then or ever! Nor anything that came after that day."

He was quiet for a long time. "I was a different man then."

"No, you weren't, any more than I was a different woman."

He stared at her, wanting to agree. But he heard himself say "Yes, we were," and all he could do was to walk away from her, walk away from the pain, walk away from that collar.

x x x

"You shocked him." 'Clara' admonished after a few seconds analysis. "You took him beyond where he could go so soon."

"I couldn't help myself. I didn't want to force him, but the words kept coming out of my mouth and I couldn't stop them." She put her hands to her face, rubbing, trying to rub the weariness away. "I haven't slept in two days, and it feels like _forever_. Maybe that's why I just couldn't shut up. God, if I could just sleep." She finished, imploringly.

"Sleep won't come to you until you can relax, and that means dealing with your problem."

"I tried dealing with it. And I screwed up."

"Malcolm Reed is not the problem; he's just a local symptom. The problem is much more deep, and his presence has only brought it to the fore. He's the cause now of your sleeplessness and your tension, but only because he's here now. You've had the problem much longer than you realize."

"Okay." She sighed, leaning back in the chair, reclining as far back as it would allow, closing her eyes and trying once again to relax. "Dazzle me. _What_ is my problem?"

"You, Patricia, need to get laid."


	2. Desperate times call for

Chapter Two

Desperate Times Call For…

Reverend Patricia McCabe looked down the length of her reclining body at the computer monitor on her desk, staring at the simulated woman's face on the screen, momentarily speechless. "Excuse me?" She sat up, her outrage growing. "_What_ did you just say to me?" She stood up, her anger growing by the second. If it were a real woman's face rather than a simulated face in a computer program she would slap it. "Did you say I need to get _laid_? _That's_ your solution? Are you saying that I can get some sleep and the galaxy will start making sense again if I just get _porked_? Are you _daring_ to say that I'll feel better if I just lay down and have Malcolm Reed feed my cat eight inches of English_ Sausage_?"

"Yes."

"Well, let me tell you something, you microchipped, nanobrained, software headed …" She fought for a word, trembling in her rage. "Ninny! You are so … so … _fragmented_ if you think… Let me tell you something, you micro … nano …chipped …" Suddenly it was as if a switch had been thrown in her mind, the fury snapped off in a flash of embarrassed realization and she could think lucidly again. And what she thought was; "You're probably right." She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, feeling quite foolish. "I'm standing here ranting and trying to think of insults against a computer program. Maybe I do need …" She could not finish it.

She sat back down, leaning back, the ending of her fury leaving her spent. "All right, 'Clara'," she admitted, "assuming your diagnosis is correct, how do I go about getting a cure?"

"Well, there you have me. My experience with hot animal sex is slightly limited."

Patricia could not help but look up. "Slightly?" 'Clara' gave her a raised eyebrow and smile combination that made her feel 'slightly' nervous. "Just what goes _on_ in hyperspace?"

"Trust me, you couldn't handle it."

"You're starting to scare me, 'Clara'. And the scariest part is – I believe you."

'Clara's' face gave her a grin. "There are more things in heaven and on earth -."

"Enough. I don't _want_ to know. Just tell me how I can fix Malcolm!"

"'Fixing' him may require your Dr. Phlox. But if you're willing to work with what he has now, you have enough experience in that area."

"I don't know…" She admitted doubtfully. "I'm rather out of practice. Seduction is not really practiced much in the Clergy. And he's so staid."

"Staid comes from the 'stays' in Elizabethan corsets and bras. Women were very happy when they were able to remove them."

Patricia thought for a moment about the underlying message. "Thank you, Clara."

"I'm always here."

"Terminate program." She told the computer, and 'Clara' vanished from the screen.

Patricia McCabe thought long and hard about her next move.

xxx

"Reverend McCabe to Lieutenant Reed." Her voice came over the intercom at his Tactical Station on the bridge as though she were standing right next to him. Malcolm glanced about the bridge, but no one took any notice. He touched the intercom button.

"Reed here."

"Lieutenant, I require your assistance on a personnel matter. It involves a member of the Security department."

"Where are you?"

"My quarters." The link disconnected. When Malcolm looked up, Archer was looking back at him.

"Some kind of problem, Malcolm?"

"I'm not entirely sure, sir. I think I'd better look into it."

"Go to it. Inform me if necessary." Malcolm was head of Security. He would know if something could be dealt with quietly or if it needed the Captain's attention.

As Reed left the bridge, Archer was fairly certain he would not be receiving a follow-up.

xx

When Lieutenant Reed arrived at the Chaplain's quarters, he pressed the annunciation button, and a moment later he heard her voice call from within. "It's open, Lieutenant. Come in."

When he stepped inside, the door closing behind him, he was surprised to find himself alone. He looked about, but there was no place to hide even a child, let alone an adult woman. Then he heard her voice call from the partially open door to the refresher. "Computer, Protocol Alpha Omega. Engage privacy locks." He heard a very familiar click behind him, and a less familiar one from elsewhere in the room.

"I'm, er, not familiar with that protocol." He hated to admit it even more than he hated speaking to an empty room.

"It's a very old one, buried deep in the computer systems. I wasn't entirely sure this class of vessel had it, but it does. It's used for the utmost level of privacy – our Orders use it fairly regularly though most people have forgotten it is even there. While it is engaged the door will not open, nor will the intercom work until I release them. You are my prisoner, Lieutenant."

He heard the amusement in her disembodied voice, and all it made him feel was annoyance. "You called me from my station to discuss a personnel matter involving a member of my staff."

"No I didn't. I said 'I require your assistance on a personnel matter. It involves a member of the Security department.' I didn't lie."

"What do you mean, you didn't lie?"

"Aren't you, after all, security personnel?"

Her light tone was only making Reed grow more annoyed. "You pulled me away from my post. Why? And come out of there. What are you doing in there? It's rude to be talking from behind a door."

"I'm being spontaneous. You _used_ to think spontaneity was so much fun."

He turned away, disgusted. "That was before. Now I have duties. This minute, in fact. So if you please, Reverend, open that door."

"Do I look like a 'Reverend' to you?" She asked; her voice no longer filtered by re-enforced steel. He turned; ready to have it out with her despite her Ministry, and the words seized in his throat.

x

The only thing unchanged about her from an hour ago was her long chestnut hair that teased her shoulders. Those shoulders were now bare, as was nearly every inch of her down to her feet.

She was as he remembered her in his dreams, but with a woman's maturity rather than … She wore the smallest pink bra he had seen in his life, barely enough material to cup her firm breasts, barely hiding the tiny points of her nipples behind the low lacy cups. Her pink panties were so small they were barely hints of panties, lace in the front; though where they got the material to form lace he could not imagine. Even the high straps at her rounded hips were so thin there was hardly enough to hold the tiny garment on her body.

Malcolm gulped so hard he could be heard across the room.

Patricia raised her hands slowly to her breasts, cupping them in her palms, her thumbs teasing the already erect points of her nipples with tantalizing slowness. "You were right about me, Malki." She whispered; her tone hot enough to melt every bulkhead on the ship. She stepped forward a single, lithe step and he had to gulp just as hard. "I am determined." She took another step closer, and his eyes could not get big enough to take enough of her in. "And stubborn." She stopped before him, still teasing her breasts, and he could not look away. He felt her burning heat, and his own response.

She reached down and took his hands, placing them on her full breasts, holding them there. "I know the real Malki Reed is in there." She said with breath of fire. She moved even closer, her hot body molding to his, his hands on her breasts, though he could not keep them still against her powerful allure.

She brought her burning lips closer to his. "If you're not going to bring him out…" She brushed her lips to his, and then embraced him with a passionate fire he'd nearly forgotten, her lips searing his. "…then I'm going in after him!"


End file.
